Ron
by Jonathan Dupont
Summary: Ron - 'cause I was feeling sorry for him.


Ron ****

Ron

He was halfway home when he felt the wind pass him. It was a sensation that he was unused to – a small breeze, just a touch colder than the normal blast that crashed into him, which tickled over his clothes and made his hair stand up. For some reason, it felt like change, and in his experience, change was bad.

With a shrug, he forgot about it, and to prove that his mind was clear he flung his broom up. Gripping so hard that he thought his Cleansweep was about to break he climbed, still pulling back until... He let out a whoop as he soared upside down, and then pulling in the same direction back to roughly where he had been originally. A perfect loop.

"Honestly."

Ginny's voice was half amusement, half criticism, and if arithmancy were to have allowed it, half admiring. 

Ron smiled back at her, his cheeks red from the wind, and his eyes glowing at his achievement. "Come on, you're jealous," he taunted her light heartedly.

She just raised her eyes, and a second later, had completed her own loop the loop. It was, Ron had to admit, if not as loud, certainly a bit quieter. He tried to keep smiling – "Show off" .

She shrugged, and flew closer so that she was hovering by him. "You're getting better Ron. Honestly. You'll beat Harry any day now."

At that, the last pretence of a smile, fell from his face. It was bad enough being the worst on a broomstick in his family – well, apart from him mum, although come to think of it he'd never seen her on a broomstick... – without bringing Harry into it. That day when Harry had first caught the Remembrall for Neville – well, at first he had just been amazed, and then after that, what with sneaking out of the dormitories to duel with Malfoy and all he had forgotten about it. Then when the broomstick had come he'd been too starstuck to be anything but pleased for his friend. It was only when Harry had started going to practises three times a week that he had stood staring at him, and the jealously had started. Sure, he was happy for his friend – he didn't know anyone in the world who deserved it so much – but ... 

When he had been just a toddler he had stared in amazement as Bill and Charlie swooped around, their movements in the air a giant intricate dance. He had watched, and then watched Fred and George and waited for _his_ day. And it had come, and he had found that it wasn't as easy as it seemed. The broom just refused to go where he pointed it, and he found that he was more likely to fall off then turn in an instant. His elder brothers and father had tried to hide it – but he had seen the gradual disappointment in their eyes. Eventually Fred and George had grown bored – and then Ginny had been given a go, and if anything she was better than Fred and George had been when they first flew. While Ron frowned and held on for dear life, Ginny laughed and thenshe _flew_.

She wasn't the only one of course. Percy had tried flying a few days later, after their mother had finally persuaded him to. He wasn't brilliant – but he was effortlessly better than Ron. And when he had got off, he had just declared it not for him, and made his younger brother staring at him only feel worse. _Even Draco Malfoy could fly better than him_. The only people I'm better than, he thought rather cruelly, is Hermione and Neville. And they didn't care.

He shook his head. This trail of thought wasn't helping anything. If he practised long enough he would get into the Gryffindor team. It was him ambition – let Percy and Bill be head boy, Hermione be top in the year (or school, it seemed more like), and he could be happy being the boy who was a member of the team. He was alright at Quidditch, alright at school grades and he had done something no one else in his family had – he had helped in the war against You-Know... Voldemort. He should call him Voldemort – else he was simply being weak.

Except he hadn't really of course. Harry had done all that – Ron's sole contribution had been winning one chess match, and carrying the person responsible for Harry being an orphan in his pocket for five years...

He shook his head again and again. Stop it – not helping. He had faced more than most wizards his age. He had a good family. Yes, good thoughts he should focus on. Positive thinking.

"Ron, are you alright?" Ginny was looking very puzzled by his constant head shaking.

Ginny. Yes, he had carried around a mass murderer, she had _unleashed_ one.

"Sorry," he said quickly, going red. That was very, very, very unfair. Okay – maybe positive thoughts that aren't cruel to everyone else.

"Yes..." said Ginny, obviously still not quite convinced of his sanity. "Come on, I'll race you on the route." And with that she was gone.

He flung his broom down, and he was flashing down after her through a way that they had done a thousand times before. He swept between the three trees, his sleeve brushing against the branches. Then between the two hedges, his sister just a glimpse of red ahead of him. He mentally jumped ahead to the rest of the route and planned it out...

Recklessly he flung himself left at the end of the hedges, and then right, left, right left, under, up again and a fight right through the wood slalom. He smiled – he was gaining on her. Then they were going over a pond – straight into cliff. The rule was that one couldn't turn up until you were three quarters of the way across the water. Ginny naturally slowed so she didn't go crashing into the wall of rock before her. Ron didn't.

Instead he shot forward, flung his body backwards with the abandon of youth, and felt his broom soar straight up at a ninety degree angle from the ground. At the top of the cliff he skidded his broom around until he was shooting in the right direction and then let it fling forward again. He was ahead. _He was ahead._

Normally he flicked his broom up and down to avoid the branches as their route crossed the wood once more. This time he didn't bother – instead pressing his body against the broom and shooting straight through the branches before him. Those he hit simply shattered. He was ahead.

Half way done now, and the first half had been the easy bit. He shot down into the next section – it was a sort of the trench in the ground with a river at the bottom, which at no point was more than a few feet across. It winded on for half a mile or so, never directly straight. Normally he allowed his feet to trail in the water and enjoyed the splashes it made. But not today. Today he was ahead, and nothing was going to slow him down.

A permanent smile on his face, this time he didn't let his mind take over. He had done this route so many times before that he could have navigated its treacherous series of twists with his eyes closed. Normally he let his hands do it automatically – but normally he lost. Violently, viciously, he flung himself from left to right, cornering in a way that before he thought only Harry could do. At one point he was about to smack into the right wall – but without a second thought he flung out his foot and shoved himself back on track. Still, it had slowed him down. He could hear her gaining behind him.

The final section of the trench his parents had forbidden any of them to do again. Naturally Fred and George took no notice, and even Charlie was prone to try it when he didn't know Ron was around. Nobody wanted Ron to have an accident in there again– so by common wordless consent, instead of going through the narrow tunnel they flew up and over the ground instead of under it. Not today. Ron pushed himself again down to his brook so that he was practically lying down on it. Then he was going into the tunnel, and if he thought it was cold before he now knew how wrong he was. In the dark all he had was the sound of the wind rushing past him, and someone gaining. Ginny wasn't going to win today – with a determined look on his face, he leaned left so as to take the gentle curve that he knew existed. A light behind him – strange, he thought Ginny could do it like him without illumination. No matter.

He shot out, and now he was on the last straight. He raced across the last field, and in the distance he could make out the wall of the Weasley's garden – the finishing line. His broom buckled, and he held on grimly. He was ahead and he wasn't letting go of it.

But the person gained, and gained. It was going to be touch and go. Ron waited until late as possible to lift his broom – a broom was very slightly faster the closer to the ground it was. At the very last second he started to pull up, to ensure he could clear the wall. Surely it couldn't go wrong now.

But the person below waited another second before shooting up, and then in what seemed like an instant darted over the wall. The smile fallen from his face, Ron descended down into his own garden and wearily got off his broom. A second later, Ginny too flew over from behind and joined them. "I wondered when you were coming," she said excitedly. "I didn't expect that entrance though." She was not talking to Ron.

"I only just saw you dart down at the beginning. So that's your famous racing route, is it? Wish I had something like that. Hi Ron."

"Yeah," said Ron, a fake smile slowly settling in on his face. "Hi Harry."


End file.
